


The Beach Episode

by SkyWrites



Category: The Death Gate Cycle - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: Beaches, Gen, Highly Exaggerated, Humor, Out of Character, Parody, Some of them, dumb humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 07:18:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7499139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyWrites/pseuds/SkyWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haplo, Alfred, and friends go to the beach and have a grand ol' time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beach Episode

**Author's Note:**

> Recently read the series because of my girlfriend and wrote this to show my love for it.
> 
> Also this is garbage. Forgive me.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~never forgive~~

The waters of Chelestra washed gently against the sand, brushing against the beach like a warm blanket in a cool wind. Haplo had arrived fashionably late. He could have made it on time with his god-like magic, but he didn’t feel like it.

Alfred was the first to notice. His incredibly pale skin was open to the Cholesterol sun or whatever, already burnt to a crisp. He wore a simple pair of swimming trunks that dangled between his gangly legs. At the sight of the Patryn, the Sartan began waving his hand wildly, as if his arm wished to take flight right then and there. “Oh! Haplo! Haplo!” he called out.

Haplo groaned. The dog yipped and barked and leapt towards the familiar friend, tackling the crispy Sartan into the sand. Alfred fell face first, of course, and soon found his mouth full of beach, causing him to spit and sputter all about. The crowd laughed and applauded. The crowd being all of Haplo and Alfred’s friends of course.

Everyone was here, somehow. It didn’t really matter, Alfred had used his Sartan magic to bring them here and it would only work at this time because he would forget he could do it later on, so its fine. Hugh the Hand was buried up to his neck in the sand, his body cold and lifeless. It appeared he had a job to kill one of the members of the beach party, but had failed miserably like always, and had gotten buried in the sand against his will and somehow died. Luckily, Alfred planned on reviving him again at some point, so it wasn’t really so bad.

Across the way, on the rocky side of the beach, the Pryan crew had set up their dramatic spot to themselves. Rega had somehow gotten trapped at the far edge of the rocks, and water from the waves were splashing against her extremely gently. It posed absolutely no threat to her, what-so-ever.

 _“Get me outta here!!”_ She screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice an incredibly shrill and terrible thing.

Paithan stood a few rocks away, looking dramatic and extremely sad for some reason. Nobody really could understand why. “Rega, no! My darling! I can’t believe this would happen to you!” the elf yelled, grasping at his chest where his heart would be.

Roland, of course, was attempting to argue with Paithan, saying things like “Dirty elves shouldn’t touch my sister. I hate elves so much I hate them!! If I had an elf right here, I wouldn’t even love her!!” He was fooling absolutely nobody but the Pryan group, probably the main reason they were all by themselves and farther away from the rest of the beach goers.

Aleatha stayed out of the drama relatively. Her sleepy body lay sprawled out across a towel on the sand. Her bikini barely covered any part of her, just two round dots covering where her lewd parts would be, and a matching tiny thong for her bottoms. Now, one would assume this beautiful nearly naked elf woman would be very sought after, but luckily most of Haplo’s friends were either gay or extremely effeminate and were too afraid or just plain too incompetent to approach her. She cried, but on the inside, so it was fine. She would be sure to let all of her emotions on the first poor man that does approach her and make sure that they never wish to speak to her again.

The dwarves had set up shop atop a rocky cliff that overlooked the ocean. Limbeck and Jarre chattered happily away with Grundle. Drugar, however, simply looked over the beach from the cliff side at all the happy beach goers, sharpening his dagger menacingly. “I’m gonna kill ‘em… gonna kill ‘em all this time for sure…” he mumbled to himself over and over again.

Grundle, being the only sane and reasonable being in this entire universe, tilted her head towards Drugar. “That dwarf over there is clearly not right in the head,” she said to Limbeck and Jarre, making sure the strange mumbling dwarf could not hear her. “We’re not going to just let the poor man be, right?”

Limbeck adjusted his spectacles for the 149th time in the last 5 minutes, his beady little eyes staring at Drugar, not understanding. “Why?”

Grundle stomped a boot forcefully into the rock, cracks spiraling out beneath her. “Is this a jest!? He’s sharpening a dagger and threatening to kill-”

Jarre wrapped an overly friendly arm around Grundle, who did not appreciate the gesture right now. “Naw, don’t you be worrying about a thing! Everything will be fine! Let’s focus on what’s at the bottom of the ocean here!”

Grundle grunted, prying herself out of Jarre’s grasp. “There’s nothing worth noting down there but darkness and chatty dolphins.”

“But there could be treasure!” Jarre beamed, hyping up her husband in the process. Limbeck still struggled with his spectacles for the 164th time now, making Grundle wonder why he even bothered having them in the first place.

“There’s no treasure. We can’t swim, remember?” Grundle tried desperately to appeal to reason, which seemed to be one of Limbeck’s stronger points. Unfortunately, his wife thought otherwise.

Limbeck lifted a pudgy ink blotted finger to the air dramatically, as if he were to read a speech again to an adoring crowd. “But! To let these waters go unexplored would lead only to the darkness in ourselves! The darkness of ignorance! If we do not explore, and do not learn, then what are we?!”

Jarre cheered her husband on, clapping her hands together excitedly. “That’s my druz!” she turned to a skeptical Grundle. “Besides, it can’t hurt to look.” The excitable female dwarf hurriedly pushed and shoved Limbeck towards the cliff’s edge, staring down at the dark blue beneath.

Side whiskers trembling with foreshadow sense, Grundle reached out towards the two. “Hey, hold on, he’s not very good at seeing, I don’t think he should be standing so close to the edge!”

Limbeck smiled and stared back to her, his beard flying over his face as he spoke. “Nah, nah, lass, don’t you worry about little old me!” he laughed, his body already having plummeted into the ocean below. He never seemed to have even noticed that he fell.

Hands on her hips, Jarre shook her head and laughed as if this were a common daily occurrence. “Oh, Limbeck, you druz! Just what wacky situation have you gotten yourself into now?”

Grundle’s eyes were wide with fright now as she stared desperately into the waters. “Are you mad, woman?! He just fell into the ocean! There’s no way he’ll find his way out now! I mean, sure he won’t drown but…”

Jarre waved it off. “Oh, don’t worry, my little druz will be fine!”

“What does druz even mean!!? That’s not even in the dwarven language! No one else says it!!” Grundle shouted, finally losing her cool.

For once, Jarre didn’t have an easy answer to that.

Drugar stared at the two arguing dwarf females, a blood curdling gaze watching their every move as he sharpened his dagger. “I’m gonna do it… I really will…. soon… really, I mean it…….”

* * *

Far from the shore, the dragon-snakes schemed, red eyes gleaming with hatred. The dragon-snakes saw the delicious BBQ ribs, the scantily clad elf women, the dwarf shenanigans, and cursed the horrible fools and their sexy beach party. They demanded hatred, violence, fear, destruction! They must ruin the beach party!

“But how!?” One of the gigantic snakes hissed, turning to its arguing brethren.

The toothless maw of another opened with a grin. “Kill them, of course!”

One dragon-snake stood out in particular to the rest. He was just as terrifying and disgusting to behold as the others, but atop his enormous snake-head rested a tiny gold crown that he seemed to have glued on with a potent magic. “No!” the dragon-snake king roared, sending the other one reeling. “You always try to make it so simple, Kevin!” Kevin, the legendary and powerful dragon-snake, recoiled back even farther into the group. “Our plans must be overly complicated and have fatal flawsssss!” The king coughed and shook his melting, dripping head. He didn’t like falling into the snake stereotype but couldn’t help himself.

“Let’s throw sand on the barbeque!” Sang-drax howled, his snake lips in a horrid grin.

Another, Drack-rax, pushed the snake aside. “Let’s tell them they’re stupid and ugly!”

Prag-Brah-Ram the dragon-snake shot out of the ocean and splashed the others. “Let’s suck out all the air from their volley-ball and ruin their tournament!”

“I really think we should just kill them…”

“SHUT UP, KEVIN,” they yelled.

The king’s tiny crown shone under the seasun. His tail curled in delight underneath his disgustingly evil chin. “No… I know just what to do…” he said deviously, barely able to contain his evil laughter. “We’ll clone that horrible mensch, Rega!”

The dragon-snakes all gasped in unison, looking to one another in shock and awe. This is why he was their king! So evil! So horrible! No living beings will be able to tolerate life with a few more Regas around!

The snakes laughed and giggled like school girls and splashed each other playfully in the water as they planned to set their evil deed in motion. Drugar watched off from the side, sharpening his blade. “I’m gonna kill em…” he mumbled to himself, standing on a tiny island that no one had noticed. “I’ll do it…..”

* * *

Black wisps of smoke fluttered into the warm and crisp Chelestra air, the smell of barbeque ribs wafting across the sand. A bloated bluish hand flipped a few ribs over on the grill with his spatula, a few dead fingers falling in. Kleitus’ dead lips drooled a frothy disgusting saliva, but not for the ribs. His dead eyes stared toward all the happy living creatures playing merrily on the beach. Someone had put a quaint chef’s hat atop his broken rotting skull.

“KLEEEEEIIIITUUUUS!” a southern voice called from behind, startling the Lazar. “Y’all best not be thinkin’ about eatin’ them young fellers over yonder, ya hear?!”

The hick’s spirit jumped in fright first and the corpse soon followed, looking back to Balthazar with guilty, dead eyes. “Aw, but Pa!” he began, pushing his dead toes (just to be clear he’s super dead) through the sand. “All’s I wanted was to eat the flesh of the livin’ is all! Send all livin’ beings and what not into my own eternal hell of pain n’ sufferin’ an’ such.”

“an’ such…” the ghost of Kleitus mumbled wistfully.

Balthazar adjusted his baseball cap and spat his chewin’ tobacco into a spittoon nearby. “Now you listen here, that’s just what those city slickin’ Sartan over there expect us to do!” He took a swig of his jug simply labeled XXX. “Just cuz’ we aint’ as powerful n’ civilized they think they’re better n’ us! We gotta show ‘em we’re just as good!”

Kleitus frowned and got back to grilling his ribs. If there was one thing an Abarrach Sartan could do, it was making a mighty fine set of ribs. “Why I gotta do all the grillin, Pa?” Kleitus grumbled to himself.

“grillin, Pa…” the ghost repeated after, already becoming really annoying to write and read.

Balthazar adjusted the straw between his lips, eying over the beach suspiciously. “Yer brother, Jonathon, should be helpin’ but he’s out playing with his sister again, doin’ Sartan knows what!”

But Kleitus and Balthazar knew what. They knew. They let the uncomfortable silence waft over them, much like the smell of ribs wafted across the salty ocean waves.

Drugar, of course, was relaxing underneath one of the beach umbrellas, still sharpening his dagger, still mumbling, “Gonna kill em… really I am… please, someone, this is a cry for help….” He sighed once he realized no one was listening, still.

* * *

Alfred’s eyebrows were furled in a perpetual worried state. “Are you quite sure it was a good idea to bring Samah along with you, Haplo?” he asked, watching Xar, Lord of the Nexus, and Samah, lord of the Sartan or whatever, play a most nasty game of volleyball with each other.

Haplo was petting his doggy pal, showing only a slight bit of confusion. “You mean, Xar?”

Alfred blinked. “Oh, yes, I mean Xar! I can barely tell those two apart…”

“Horrible devil spawn of hell!” Xar bellowed as he struck the white ball with all his might. “I will not lose to one so cruel as you!”

“Hellish demon spawn of the Labyrinth!” Samah roared, striking the ball back over the net with also all of his might. “I will not not-win against one as not-nice as you!”

They were both so unreasonably angry. It didn’t make much sense. No one really liked being around them or bringing them along on vacation, but they always sort of just invited each other over.

The two lords or councilors battled each other in an almost mirrored symmetry. Haplo and Alfred actually forgot who was who and just kind of stopped paying attention. It didn’t seem like _anyone_ wanted to pay them any heed. They mostly yelled at each other and blamed the other for every wrong that happened to them.

“Glorious Patryn! An ice cream stain! On my robes!” Probably Xar yelled. “This is your doing isn’t it you treacherous Sartan!!?”

“Great Sartan! A soda spilled upon my robes as well!” Probably Samah yelled. “You did this didn’t you, you horrible Patryn!!?”

Both were playing volleyball with a cool snack in their hands. Even the Pryan crew thought these two were over the top and illogically angry.

Haplo let out an exhausted sigh and laid back against his beach towel, refusing to give his leader any more thought.

“O-oh dear,” Alfred mumbled, finding his own beach towel somehow wrapped around his gangly body. No one could figure out how it happened. In fact, he seemed to be tangled in more than one towel now. Towels were just appearing and tangling themselves around this weird old man. Alfred, was course, used to it, though. “Is that the dragon-snakes out there?”

“Ugh,” Haplo groaned. “I don’t really feel like dealing with it.”

“We should probably stop them.”

“Uggghhh!”

“They are terrifying visages of our own hatred and violence after all…”

“Ugggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!”

“It appears they’re attempting to make clones of that human girl, Rega…”

Haplo’s eyes shot open in terror. The Patryn hero jumped to his feet, sigla on his skin flaring a bright blue. His body and mind were ready to defeat such evil! “We have to stop them at any cost! Alfred! We must combine our powers!”

Across the ocean in the deep end, the dragon-snakes were giggling and splashing each other happily still, not really bothering anyone. It seemed only Kevin the dragon-snake was trying to figure out how to clone Rega. Still, that in itself is quite horrible and can’t be allowed.

Alfred was never one ignore an order from Haplo. With a swift nod, the old man jumped to his feet, sorta, still tangled up in beach towels. Using his ultimate Sartan technique, Alfred pulled out a kazoo, singing and blowing the rune magic into it as hard as he could.

Haplo responded quickly as well. He just so happened to have a pen and a note pad and began to draw his own runes, as is the Patryn way. On the sand covered paper, Haplo drew a handsome stick figure standing over a bunch of crudely drawn snakes with stink lines coming off of them. (See image for accurate art).  


Kazoo magic blaring and 12 year-old-art sigla flaring, Alfred and Haplo unleashed the possibility that the dragon-snakes were actually really dumb and stupid and defeated.

With the force of an atomic bomb, the dragon-snakes were thrown into the air at lightning fast speeds, sailing through the Chelestra skies and into the dark oceans past. “Curse you, Haplo and Alfred!” the king roared, tears burning his eyes as he cried. “And most of all, curse you, Keeeeeeeeeeeevvvviiiiiiiiiin!”

Alfred’s chest heaved as he tucked away his kazoo into a pocket. Haplo nearly collapsed onto the beach, his notepad full of badly done sketches falling into the sand with a soft thud. “T-they were a worthy opponent…” Haplo breathed out, blood dripping from his heart rune. <3 ~~~~~ It looked like that.

And so, everyone enjoyed the beach and had a good time. Limbeck was carried away by dolphins, but he never really noticed. He continued his speeches to the chattering fish, and they listened and nodded happily. Jarre was strangely fine with never seeing him again.

Hugh the Hand actually managed to die again, somehow, off screen. His corpse was found near an ice cream stand this time. Probably died of a tummy ache, or something stupid.

In the end, everyone lived happily ever after, except for Hugh the Hand and Drugar, who never actually killed anyone, but continued to wish death upon all for some reason.

The end I guess, I don’t know. 

**Author's Note:**

> Darkhymns drew the art for this masterpiece.


End file.
